Lyre, Lyre
by Sixty-four K
Summary: Companion to the first arc of "Life of Legolas". Feren feels terrible about his cousin Lindir's recent ordeal in Mirkwood. He'd do anything to help Lindir feel better- wait, did he say "anything"? In that case, Lindir has something he wants: a certain lyre, belonging to a certain Elvenking. How can Feren turn down this earnest request?
1. A Simple Request

_**Hi! This is a little companion to my other story, **__**Life of Legolas**_. _**I recommend reading that story's first arc(which, at the moment, is the only one), before reading this, as this story won't make much sense without it.**_

**Chapter One: A Simple Request**

_To my dear cousin Feren_

In answer to your previous letter: Yes, thank you, I'm feeling much better. My bed is situated beside a large window with a lovely view of the garden, and I watch the butterflies fly by as long as there is daylight. My one regret is that I am not yet well enough to run about and catch them.

Everyone here is exceedingly nice to me. Erestor has been reading the Red Book aloud to me, and Glorfindel is working through a dramatic recitation of the Fall of Gondolin. Both of their stories are a little violent for my taste, but I don't want to hurt their feelings, as they both have many other duties to attend to, and are very kind to give up some of their time to attend to me. Lord Elrond has been too busy to visit often, but, he is Lord Elrond, and cannot be persuaded to change his schedule on my account.

I regret to answer your other question, but, yes; there is one thing you could do for me that would speed my recovery. You see, visions of a lyre haunt my dreams- the lyre of the Elvenking. It was so lovely- so sparkly, with jewels shaped like butterflies. It seemed to play of itself- and what wondrous melodies pour'd forth from those harmonious strings! Of course, I wouldn't dream of asking you to steal-er, borrow the lyre for me. I'm sure that you're very busy doing whatever you do in Mirkwood, and it could possibly lose you your job if you went and did that. I wouldn't ask you to do such a thing, though it would gladden my heart and lighten my steps and make my very existence a joy.

Well, I must be off. Erestor informs me, on behalf of Lord Elrond, that it is my naptime.

_Your Loving Cousin_,_ Lindir._

_To my cousin Lindir_

Don't worry, old bean. I'll get you that lyre, though it might leave a permanent mark on my resume. It'll be an apology from me on behalf of Mirkwood for that snafu(oops. That sounded like the Elvenking).You could've found a more straightforward way to ask me, though. Enough with the hemming and hawing.

By the way, are you sure that we're talking about the same lyre? I didn't see any butterfly-shaped jewels, and, when it's played, it sounds like an abomination, at least when the king plays it- I had better make sure that Galion doesn't peep at this letter. No matter what, he holds steadfast to his creed: whatever the Elvenking does is perfect, and Thranduil himself is infallible. He's incredibly stodgy, but I suppose he means well. Anyway- don't worry! That lyre should be in the mail along with my next letter.

_Your favourite cousin, Feren_

P.S. I don't just "do whatever I do here". I'm a groundskeeper, guard, messenger, gatekeeper and musician. Galion does everything else that needs doing. Another reason why the Elvenking wants a talking-to.

_**Please review, and thank you for reading!**_


	2. A Good Deed

_**Thanks for reviewing and favouriting, Lily! I encourage others to do the same;) Thanks to those who have read and followed as well.**_

**Chapter Two: A Good Deed**

Although Feren had promised Lindir the Lyre of the Elvenking, he well knew that obtaining said lyre would be no easy task. The Elvenking loved the lyre more than he loved his own son and, when he was not playing it, would wander the halls, clutching the lyre to his chest, a haunted expression in his eyes. When he was not doing this, he kept the lyre locked in a glass case in his Royal Chambers. That, decided Feren, would be the opportune time to attempt theft of the lyre. He didn't exactly treasure the idea of tackling Thranduil and snatching the lyre from his regal hands.

"Ooff!" Lost in his reverie, Feren had not paid attention to his surroundings and walked smack dab into Galion the butler. The only two servants of the Elvenking picked themselves up, brushing the dust from the floor off of their humble robes(they were humble indeed, for the Elvenking had no wish to be outshone by those in his employment).

"Sorry 'bout that," said Feren. He flashed the butler a brilliant grin.

"Your apology is accepted,"groaned Galion. He was quite a few years older than Feren, and had found his fall to be more painful than that of the muscian's. "But please," he added. "Refrain from running in the halls."

Feren didn't think that he had been running, but he decided against pressing this point. "What're you up to?" he asked, noticing Galion's unusual hairstyle. The butler was sporting a ponytail in the place of his usual loose locks.

"I'm mopping the palace floor," sighed Galion. "Every floor in every room. His majesty wishes to be able to see his reflection wherever he walks. I'm not complaining, but I wish that he would hire a younger elf to do some of the heavier work. My back isn't what it used to be."

"Poor Galion," said Feren, shaking his head in sympathy. "If only Tauriel were here..."

"I don't think she'd do," said Galion regretfully. "I'd hate to subject a lady to this kind of work."

Although Feren often enjoyed teasing Galion, he also had a large degree of fondness for the overworked butler, and would often help him out in his spare time. Since he wasn't doing anything important at the moment, Feren decided that now was a good time to lend Galion a hand. After all, Galion was known to be quite talkative while working, and he could have some important information regarding the king's lyre-habits. Galion knew almost everything about Thranduil, and his input in this quest could prove most useful.

"Don't worry, old bean. I'll help you out," said Feren most charmingly.

"Oh, would you?" smiled the butler. "You have my gratitude." With that, he handed Feren a mop and bucket, the mop handle cracked and the bucket slightly leaky. "You can have the good mop. I'll start here, and you can start on the other side."

Feren looked towards the other side of the room. He was immediately struck with dismay. This room was the entrance hall, and Thranduil had built it to impress visitors. It was huge- yards _and_ meters long. Feren groaned. He would have to mop for hours just to get within shouting distance of Galion. He hoped that this good deed would be profitable.


	3. A Convincing Argument

_**Thanks, guys! You're so nice:) Please keep reviewing; I always appreciate what you have to say. Thanks to my followers and favouriters as well. Enjoy!  
**_

**Chapter Three: A Convincing Argument  
**

Feren was trying his best, but it was extremely difficult to carry on a conversation with someone who was across the room from you, especially a room as large as this great hall. It was also difficult to keep from sobbing in misery. Only an hour into this job, and Feren's back already ached as though it had been struck by the hammer of a cave troll. He vaguely wondered how many discs had slipped out of place.

"How do you fare?"

Feren jerked his head upwards at Galion's words. "Fine," he said shakily, grinning with a glassy-eyed stare.

Galion shook his head. "Your back wouldn't ache so badly if you didn't slouch so. Posture is key! You're as bad as His Majesty. He seems to think that his bad posture is 'fabulous' or some other rot, always slouching on his throne, and then has the cheek to complain about his backache later!"

Unable to conjure up a snappy reply, Feren absently nodded, his neck cracking audibly.

An hour later, Feren and Galion were close enough to carry on a conversation that did not require yelling in order for them to hear each other. The two servants of the Elvenking didn't immediately take advantage of this fact, however. Galion continued to scrub in a vigorous fashion, his back as straight as a rod. Feren's scrubbing was of a more lethargic sort, his body position resembling the shape of a candy cane. Apart from their heavy breathing, the two elves remained silent, attempting no conversation.

An hour later, when they were only a few meters apart, Feren could bear it no longer. "I want to steal The Lyre. Can you help me?"

Galion's legs gave way, and he fell to the floor with a gasp of pure horror, spilling his bucket of soapy water over the already-shiny floor. He looked up at his companion with wide eyes. "You ask me to commit treason!" he whispered.

"No no no!" protested Feren. "I phrased that wrong. What I meant to say was: Can you help me liberate Eryn Lasgalen from the horror that is The Lyre of the Elvenking, and help me send it to my poor cousin Lindir, who will put it to infinitely better use?"

Galion stared at the floor, unknowingly hugging the mop handle against his shoulder. "You ask me to put my personal wants before the needs of my king," he said, voice quavering. "You ask me to consider my migraines and insomnia before the joy of the Elvenking."

"Your migraines will be gone before you know it, and you should be getting a full night's sleep before long," said Feren, confidence growing. "But those are just side benefits. Most importantly, you'll be helping the Elvenking. He's so obsessed with that lyre that he's ignoring matters of state. He'd rather play it than sleep, and it's driving a rift between he and Legolas. Don't you see, my friend? You'll not only be helping me, Lindir and yourself, but you'll also be helping Thranduil."

"That's King Thranduil to you," scowled Galion. "Honestly. Why do young elves these days have no respect for the monarchy?"

"Maybe 'cause the monarchy pays minimum wage."

Galion ignored this remark, seemingly lost in thought. Finally, he spoke. "You've given me great deal to think about. Let me consider this for a short while. I will give you my answer in three days, on the day of the Elvenking's party."

With that, the butler picked up his mop and pail and strode away down the hall.

Feren sighed in frustration. Three days? Lindir was pining away at this very moment. He needed that lyre immediately, and Feren needed the lyre gone even sooner than that; the painful pressure upon his brain increased with every pluck of those accursed strings. At the moment, however, the only thing for Feren to do was to write to his cousin, explaining the reason for the delay in the lyre's delivery.

Not bothering to search for a seat, Feren sat down where he had been standing, pulled out his handy dandy parchment scroll, and began to write.

_To my dear old cousin, of whom I am extremely fond:_

_Sorry, old bean; there's been a bit of a delay in the obtainment of your lyre. I've been trying to sway Galion to our side- no one knows the king's habits like he does- but the old boy is reluctant to assist us. I've got this, though. He'll be a faithful ally before you know it. Never fear! That lyre will be in your hands before you can say 'lembas'!_

_Hugs, your favourite cousin, you-know-who_

_P.S. You do understand that that last statement was hyperbole, right? I'm just making sure:)_

Feren folded the paper, put it in an envelope, and licked the seal(his favourite part of writing a letter). He pressed it firmly closed. This task accomplished, he walked to his room. He had several things to accomplish over the next three days, the first of which, barring the mailing of his letter, was the successful obtainment of a pair of earplugs.


	4. It's an Inside Job

_**Thank you so much, everyone! I'm glad you're liking it! Please continue to review:)**_

_**By the way, I don't endorse drugs, no matter what my beloved Galion may do. Except prescribed medicinal ones, but that's beside the point. Anyway... just so you know:)**_

**Chapter Four: It's an Inside Job**

Staring into the wall isn't exactly the best use of one's time. Feren knew this- but he often did it all the same. It was, after all, a less troublesome action than staring into someone's face when one is trying to think of something. Feren was indeed brainstorming(and staring into the wall) at the moment- this lyre was proving to be more difficult to obtain than he had originally accounted for. He had already decided to leave Galion out of the equation. Despite the butler's inherent usefulness, his lack of an absolute promise of cooperation had already made him too unreliable a variable. Nearly every plan that Feren had made had included him, however, so Feren was forced to come up with another plan from scratch.

_Maybe I can break that glass case when his Royal Majesty isn't looking- but there'd be all that shattered evidence all over the ground to deal with. Or maybe I could disguise as a professional lyre-tuner, and then I'd have a valid excuse for taking it... nah. The Elvenking probably doesn't trust anyone but Lindir to tune it, and th_e_n maybe not even him... but maybe if I disguised as Lindir-_

"...Feren, if you would just pay_ attention_ me for_ once_ in your life..."

Feren blinked rapidly, and found himself staring into the face of Galion.

"What're you doing here?" asked Feren. "I thought you were avoiding me or something."

Galion rolled his eyes. "I've no idea what you're talking about. Now. Listen to me." He glanced furtively from side to side. "Not here, though. I know of a place where we can talk in private."

* * *

"Really, Galion? The king's_ dressing room?_ Isn't this kind of like talking about cutting down trees in Fangorn Forest?"

"Nonsense," sniffed the butler, pausing to wipe a smudge off of the full-length mirror. "He never comes in here at this hour. Now," he began briskly. "On to business. I am willing to help you, but we must act swiftly."

"Really?" asked Feren, most pleased. "I never doubted you, old sprout. What's the plan?"

Galion assumed an authoritative tone. "Tonight, as the king partakes in the revels of this party, to which the entire Woodland Realm is invited, I will slip a sleeping drug into his wine. He will drink it, and will shortly fall asleep. His lyre will be within easy reach of us, since he is planning a recital for this evening. All you need to do is take the lyre and run it to your cousin."

"Excellent," smiled Feren. "I knew that I would sway you to my side."

"You did nothing of the kind," protested Galion. "I merely considered the facts that you volunteered to me, and determined them to be valid reasons for my cooperation."

"Same story, different words," said Feren carelessly. "Alright then. Let's meet tonight behind Legolas' tree-house after you put the drug in his drink. Once I see you, I'll know it's safe to take the lyre."

"Don't worry, Feren,"assured Galion. "I will not fail to keep my end of the bargain."


	5. Moral Dilemmas

_**Thank you so much, everybody! I'm glad that you're enjoying this strange little story(it has barely any mainstream characters in it at all!) I'm glad to know that you guys are liking my versions of Galion and Feren(in fact, over the course of this story, Galion has become my personal elf; he needs me to love him, since very few other people do).  
**_

_**Hope you enjoy this one. First appearance of Thranduil in this chapter, as well as someone else that you may or may not be happy to see. **_

**Chapter Five: Moral Dilemmas**

_I can do this. I can betray the Elvenking- no, not betray. Help. It's helpful, to be sure. He could use the break from the constant racket- no, not racket; he's trying his best, I'm sure, to play beautiful music; he doesn't mean to hurt my head and cause others stress. He's trying to do a good thing, and just doesn't have a musical ear; though I'm sure, if he practised enough, he'd be good at it someday- not that he isn't good at it now, it's just that he hasn't had enough practice. _

_Valar help me. I need to learn to stick to my resolutions. I won't be pushed around any longer- it's time for an Industrial Revolution. No, no no no no no..._

_How can I drug my own king? _

_It's too late... I've already done it...it's in the wine already, it's coating the cup, it can't be taken out...  
_

_Why why why why why why..._

"Why _what_, Galion?"

Galion jumped. "What!? What did I say?"

The Elvenking frowned. "You repeatedly said the words_ no_ and_ why._ I demand an explanation."

"Just something about the wine," said Galion shakily, pouring some into a golden goblet. "I'm not very happy with it."

"What's wrong with it?" asked the Elvenking, walking over to examine the contents of the goblet. "Is the colour off, or is it the taste?"

"The ingredients are a little suspect, I believe," said Galion. "Or perhaps it's the cup."

"If there's something wrong with the cup, why did you pour the wine into it?" asked Thranduil, frown increasing.  
"I- I don't know," squeaked Galion. "It... it felt like the right thing to do."

"Really?" The Elvenking's expression slowly changed to a smirk. "Facing a moral dilemma, are we, Galion?"

"Yes," whispered the butler regretfully, staring down towards his boots. "I... I'm sorry, your highness. But it had to be done."

Thranduil laughed, something sinister spoiling the otherwise merry sound. "I've no idea what you're talking about, Galion. But, since you seem so interested in the wine, why don't you try some? No need to pour another cup. That one you've already poured will do."

"It... it's yours."

"That's never stopped you before," sneered the Elvenking. "Go ahead. I'm anxious to see your reaction. Do tell me if you've enjoyed it."

* * *

For the most part, Feren didn't mind waiting for appointments. He always had something to do; he carried a parchment scroll with him at all times, in which he recorded his many business ideas, which had the habit of springing upon him at all hours. Still, he didn't exactly enjoy waiting for hours, when he could be doing something infinitely more useful, such as actually implementing his ideas- and he had been waiting for hours. Galion was proving himself to be uncharacteristically tardy.

The sounds of the party floated though the air towards Feren. Oh, how he wanted to join the throng of wood-elves gathered in the clearing!- but no. He couldn't. He had to stick to the plan. For Lindir. For-

"Hey, Feren! What's up?"

Startled into action, Feren jumped up from his resting place beneath Legolas' tree-house, whirling about to see-

"Tauriel?"

The red-haired elf-maid grinned at him. "Who else?"

"Anyone else! You're not supposed to be here. The Elvenking banished you, and for good reason."

Tauriel sniffed. "Well, I'm not here to stay. I'm just here to do my job. I'm a courier, you know. Who else was delivering those letters that you've been getting from Imladris?"

"Sometimes I was," sighed Feren. "I am the Official Messenger of Eryn Lasgalen, after all. So, have you brought me a letter?"

Tauriel nodded, pulling a sizable envelope out of her messenger bag. "Mm hm. It's from Imladris, as you might have guessed. I think there's more in it than a letter, actually."

"It's probably from Lindir," said Feren, opening the letter nonchalantly. "It's probably a big guilt-fest in there, 'cause I haven't done what I said I would yet. 'Oh, Feren, I'm fading, because you still haven't sent me that ly-. Never mind."

"That what?" asked Tauriel, smiling expectantly.

Feren remembered why he had never liked Tauriel. "None of your beeswax."

He finished opening the letter. "There is something inside," he said, unsurprised that Tauriel would know that already. "I'll bet that you felt it to find out was inside."

"Of course not," sniffed the elf-maid. "Hurry up; I want to see what's inside."

Feren tipped the letter to the side. A small, shiny object fell into his hand. A delicate, finely crafted work of art. A butterfly hair clip.

Feren gasped. "Oh, no..."

"What's wrong?" asked Tauriel, all enjoyment of the situation gone at the sight of Feren's drastically changed expression.

"Lindir would never willingly send away his hair clip- it's one of his most prized possessions," said Feren, voice monotone. "There is only one explanation. My cousin is dead." Then he burst into tears.

_**Don't kill me, Lily, or any other Lindir lovers! I've got plans for this, don't worry. I had an alternate name for this chapter- Death of Lindir(hah hah), but I thought that it might spoil the chapter too much. Please, feel free to rant at me in a review, everyone;)**_


	6. A New Ally?

_**Thanks, NirCele, for reviewing! Sorry if this chapter doesn't clear up everything that you hoped it would. Please continue to review, friends! Also, if you like any of my stories, please vote on the poll on my profile to tell me which you want me to finish first!  
**_

**Chapter Six: A New Ally?**

"You're... feeling fine then, Galion?"

Galion nodded. "Yes, your majesty. Fine. Wonderful. Never better."

"Ah." The Elvenking hid his slight bewilderment behind a smirk. "Since you evidently did enjoy the wine, would you like another cup?"

"Oh, no no, sire," protested Galion, looking slightly hassled. "I wouldn't dream of it. It's your party, not mine."

Thranduil's annoyance grew. "Drink another, I order you!"

Galion's eyes grew wide. "No need to yell," he said. "Fine." He immediately downed another cup. "Happy yet, your grace?"

"Don't be snarky," said Thranduil, studying Galion carefully. His butler wasn't the strongest elf in the forest- after all, he was a butler, not a warrior. If there was any poison to be found within the draught, surely he would have succumbed to it. Besides, Thranduil really wanted that wine.

"I suppose that you've had enough, now?" he asked.

Galion nodded. "I didn't want any to begin with."

"Then I suppose that I'll have some, now," continued Thranduil. "I don't want you to have it all."

"Excellent choice, sire," said Galion, pouring some more wine into a cup. "I brought it out for you, after all. Have as much as you want."

Thranduil noticed Galion's hand shaking as the wine was being poured. "Does it usually do that?"

"Do what, your grace?"

"Your hand. Shake like that."

Galion laughed. "Oh, often when I'm tired, your highness. Don't tell me that you're worried about me?"

"Of course not. I never worry about you," said Thranduil, accepting the full glass from Galion. "Although I am rather suspicious of your uncharacteristic eagerness for me to drink this wine, and your reluctance to drink it."

"You know that I've been avoiding wine for the past several decades. There's nothing suspicious about it," said Galion, blinking rapidly."Go on. I've never known you to be so resistant to drinking wine."

"Stop blinking- it bothers me," said Thranduil, raising the glass to his lips. Forgoing daintiness, he drank the entire glass in one gulp. "Why do you keep blinking?"

"I'm tired. I already said I was tired. Blinking keeps me awake," said Galion. "You know how hard I've been working for this party. It's no wonder that I'm tired."

Thranduil couldn't help but find something off about his butler's words. He opened his mouth to say so, but a yawn came out instead. He found himself blinking as well._Why am I so tired? It's barely evening,_ he thought. Everything was starting to look blurred. The second-last thing he saw before he fell into dreamland was a sinister smirk on his usually mild-mannered butler's face.

"Sweet dreams, sire," was the last thing he heard.

The last thing he saw was his butler falling to the floor.

* * *

Legolas was in trouble. He was late for his ada's party- and that was practically a death sentence for those who lived in Mirkwood. Since he was the prince, the sentence would be somewhat less harsh than death, especially if he managed to soften his father's heart before the punishment was pronounced by saying something cute. But still, the danger of Solitary Confinement, or a worse punishment loomed over him. Perhaps if he sneaked into the party clearing by a back way, it would lessen his chance of being caught late. He changed direction, heading towards his tree-house, the location of which had been strategically chosen by him as a fine location from which to sneak just about anywhere in the forest. It was fairly near the palace and the party clearing, and was tall enough to spy on Dol Goldur and anywhere else of note in the forest, but looked enough like any other tree to avoid attention.

As he drew near the tree, he heard something strange- the sound of crying, a sound not often heard in Eryn Lasgalen. Curiosity aroused, Legolas ran towards the sound. As he came nearer, he could see two huddled figures beneath his tree-house. Feren and Tauriel leaned against Legolas' tree, both weeping uncontrollably.

"What's wrong?" asked Legolas, feeling both uncomfortable and curious at the sight of their grief. "And Tauriel- why are you here? I thought that Ada banished you."

Tauriel looked up at Legolas, face red and tear-streaked. "He did," she said, choking back a sob, "but I work for the postal service these days, so I brought Feren a letter from Rivendell, and- and- and..."

"My cousin is dead!" howled Feren.

"What!" exclaimed Legolas, falling to the ground. "It can't be! Why wasn't I told? I should have been there."

"Why?" asked Tauriel.

"Why, because I'm his nemesis,"explained Legolas. "I should have been there to see him die. If anything, I should have been the one to do the deed."

"I'm going to kill you," said Feren.

"Calm down, boys!" cried Tauriel.

Legolas crawled over to the tree, squeezing himself in between Tauriel and Feren. "So, the letter said he was dead?"

"Well, no," admitted Feren. "I knew, just by seeing this." He held out Lindir's hair clip.

"He must be dead," agreed Legolas after studying the clip. Feren burst into tears once again.

"Legolas, you're so mean!" scolded Tauriel. "Be a dear and go get Galion. He'll know what to do. I'll stay here and comfort poor Feren, since you're obviously no help with that."

"Alright," said Legolas, scrambling up from the ground. "But you're putting me at high risk. Galion will undoubtedly be near Ada, and, when Ada sees me- well, it won't be pretty. I'm late for the party, you see."

Tauriel's eyes filled with angry tears. She stared both angrily and incredulously at Legolas. "There is no love in you," she spat.

"Oh, fine," grumbled Legolas. "Be that way." He ran off towards the party in search of Galion- little anticipating the scene he would find upon arriving there.


	7. A Horrifying Discovery

_Thank you, everybody, for reviewing, following and favouriting! _

_I upped the rating to K+, since this story has wine, drugs, and a horrifying discovery(all of which Galion is responsible for. Thanks, Galion). Hope nobody minds; I just thought that it might be more accurate. That being said, this chapter might be a *little* bit disturbing, but if you've already read the last chapter, you should already know what's going on._

**Chapter Seven: A Horrifying Discovery**

Legolas pushed and shoved his way through the crowds of partying elves in his desperate search for Galion. It was a difficult, but necessary thing to push inconspicuously, for Legolas did not dare to let his father see him arrive late at the party. After finding this to be futile, Legolas stealthily dropped to the ground, beginning an army-crawl towards the dais where his father's party throne stood. If he could sneak behind the throne, he could whisper to the butler and tell him to come. It was likely that his father would be too inebriated to hear him, and Galion, with his mind unaffected by alcohol and the party lights, would be quick to respond.

Legolas' army crawl earned several quizzical stares from some of the party elves, but, evidently, this behaviour from the prince was not abnormal enough for them to alert their king. Their stares went unnoticed by Legolas, who kept his face to the ground as he crawled, focusing only on what was right ahead of him. With his amazing skill, he reached the dais quickly. He speedily climbed up onto it, pressing his back against the back of the throne.

"Galion!" he hissed. "Galion, come here! Feren needs grief counselling."

There was no answer. Irritated, Legolas rolled his eyes.

"Galion! You old slowcoach, get over here!" he whispered as loudly as he dared.

Once again, there was no answer.

Legolas' irritation was increasing exponentially. Finally, growing tired of his extreme caution of avoiding his father, he decided to peer around the side of the throne, in order to see what could be keeping Galion from answering his call.

He did.

He saw.

His horrified scream echoed through the forest

* * *

"Don't cry, Feren. It'll all be okay," said Tauriel, patting Feren's back in a way that she hoped was comforting. She searched her mind for other comforting things to say, but came up with nothing. It wasn't often that she had to console someone for a loss, and it showed.

Feren wiped his eyes furiously. "He was such an innocent little thing," he said, voice filled with emotion. "His days were full of butterflies, sunshine, and little tunes. The only things that ever bothered him were other people."

"Who bothered him?" asked Tauriel, for lack of anything else to say.

"Oh, Legolas was a chief offender," said Feren, smiling through his tears. "In that, I always completely sympathized with Lindir."

Tauriel looked horrified. "He wouldn't! Not Legolas!"

"Yes Legolas," said Feren. "He can be a real terror at times."

Tauriel opened her mouth, determined to defend the woodland prince. Before she had the chance, however, she was startled by a strange rumbling in the ground.

"What's that?" she asked, her expression tentatively fearful.

"I've no idea," said Feren.

As soon as he said this, however, the cause of the rumbling came pouring out of the party clearing. A multitude of party elves came stampeding past Legolas' tree-house, right before the eyes of the startled mourners.

Feren stared. "Good gravy! What's going on?"

No one seemed inclined to answer, however. They all continued to race past the tree-house.

Finally, Tauriel reached into the crowd, grabbed the wrist of an elf, and dragged him out of the mass. "What's going on?" she demanded. "Why are you all running?"  
The elf stared at her, evidently shocked that she would be so bold as to pull him away from the herd. "Excuse me," he sniffed. "I am Lethuin, the finest hunter in all of Eryn Lasgalen, and I am deeply offended at your presumptuous action, young lady."

"Answer her," said Feren. "We're both very curious as to why all of you party elves are running like a herd of oliphaunts."

Lethuin sniffed again. "Well, our 'herd', as you so quaintly put it, sensed danger."

"Danger?" echoed Feren.

"Yes, young man," said Lethuin, nose in the air. "While we were so innocently merry-making, a fell sound reached our elven ears- the scream of Prince Legolas! As you may know, Prince Legolas only screams when something truly terrible has happened. Our first instinct, upon the hearing of the sound, was to flee. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Lethuin broke away from Tauriel's grip, racing away to catch up with the group of party elves.

Feren and Tauriel stared at each other in disbelief. "What could have happened to make Legolas scream?" asked Tauriel.

"Any number of things," said Feren. "He could have fallen and broken his leg. Perhaps he broke his nose, and thus marred his fair elven features. Maybe he accidentally stuck himself with one of his arrows. Or maybe..."

"Of course not," scowled Tauriel. "Nothing so minor as that would cause Legolas to scream. He's amazingly tough, and incredibly brave, not to mention wonderfully wise- it must have been something awful to make him scream."

"I thought that you had a thing for the Elvenking, not him," said Feren accusingly.

"That was ages ago," said Tauriel, tossing her hair carelessly. "I've gotten over it. Anyway, we should go to see what it was that bothered Legolas so much that he would scream."

With that, Tauriel dragged Feren off in the direction of the party clearing.

A few minutes into their journey, Feren suddenly cried out. "Wait! I forgot the butterfly hair clip!" Tears began to roll down his cheeks once again.

Having grown tired of comforting the grieving elf, Tauriel rolled her eyes. "Hurry up. Legolas could be dying at this very moment!"

* * *

Legolas tentatively crept over to the body on the ground. "Galion? What has happened? Do you still live?"

Galion made no reply. He merely lay there, in a pool of red.

_UGH. It's DEAD. I don't want to touch it, _thought Legolas disturbingly. "Where's Ada?" he asked himself- or Galion, but neither could answer the question anyway, so it didn't matter. He got up from where he had been kneeling- and then saw his father, slumped over on his throne, his clothes stained red.

If Legolas' shriek had been loud before, this time it was deafening.

* * *

"Hurry!" urged Tauriel to a lagging Feren. "You're taking too long."

Feren was still crying. "I can't believe that I left my cousin's butterfly clip behind," he repeated to himself.

"Look, we're almost there," said Tauriel. "Just a few more steps- there, that's it!"

"I don't need a personal trainer," said Feren crossly. "I'll have you know that my job requires me to be quite fit, and- Great Scott!"

Tauriel's eyes widened as she took in the sight that had elicited such a vehement response from Feren. "Thorin's beard!" said she.

In the middle of the dais lay the prince of all Eryn Lasgalen, eyes staring upwards. To his right lay the butler. To his left, upon the throne, was the Elvenking.

Tauriel shrieked. "They're dead!" She raced towards the dais and vaulted onto it, running to Legolas' side. Feren followed more slowly. It didn't matter to him if they were dead or not. He had lost his cousin, and that was all that mattered.

"Legolas!" cried Tauriel. "Are you alive?"

Legolas' eyelids fluttered. "Barely, Tauriel," he replied weakly. "I am afraid that I am fading. The revelation that my butler has murdered my father is too much to bear."

Feren stared with admiration at the prone figure of Galion. "He made the ultimate sacrifice!" he exclaimed. "All for the Lyre."

"Curse that Lyre," moaned Legolas. "It has brought nothing but wrath, ruin, and despair upon this once-fair realm. I should have known," he said, sitting up and pointing at Feren, "that you and Galion were conspiring together to murder my father. You two always wanted his throne, didn't you? Well, which of you was going to get to be king? Think of that, Feren?"

"I didn't mean for it to go this far," pleaded Feren. "I underestimated Galion's determination."

Tauriel, growing tired of the nearby argument, wandered over to the throne to inspect the Elvenking. It wouldn't do to have this fuss if the Elvenking was merely wounded. She listened carefully, hoping to hear him breathing. Indeed, she did- as a matter of fact, he was snoring!  
"Boys!"

Legolas(who had forgotten that he was fading) and Feren looked towards her, startled out of their increasingly violent argument. "What?"

"He's alive!" she shouted. "He's only asleep."

Unbelieving, Legolas came over to the throne, but his elven ears soon came to the same conclusion that she had come to. "But- isn't that blood all over his robes?" he stuttered.

"No," said Feren, looking closely. "It's wine. He must have spilled it over himself when he fell asleep."

"Does that mean..." asked Legolas, trailing off as he looked over at Galion.

"I think so," said Feren.

Legolas began to cry, much to Tauriel and Feren's surprise. "I'm sorry, Galion!" he wailed, dropping to the butler's side. "I never knew that he'd actually kill you! I mean, I know he'd sometimes get mad at you, but I never thought..."

"No, no," said Feren. "Listen carefully- he doesn't snore like the Elvenking, but he's asleep, alright. That's wine on him, too, see?"

It took Legolas several minutes, but after comparing the stains on Thranduil's clothes to the ones on Galion several times, and after checking the vitals of both the indisposed parties("Why didn't you do that before?" asked Feren) Legolas was sufficiently reassured.

"So what do we do now?" asked Tauriel.

"Easy," said Feren. "The Elvenking is now out of the way. Now, for the true end of our quest."

He stared intensely at his two companions. "Now, we steal the Lyre."

* * *

_Let me know if you like Lethuin. He's not exactly an OC. He's about as real as Feren- he appeared in one or more of the Hobbit movies(probably DoS, I can't remember). If people like him, I may add him to Thranduil's household, since there's barely anybody for it in bookverse._

_Please review, and thank you for reading! _

_Trivia- longest chapter by about 400 words(a significant increase for me- I'm afraid that I'm very fond of brevity when I write.)_


	8. You found a LYRE! It's super effective!

Thanks, everybody, for reviewing, following and favouriting! You guys are fabulous. I'm sorry I took so long to update- I've been busy, busy, dreadfully busy. Hopefully I can wrap things up at ten chapters, so(probably) only two more to go! As always, please review. I love hearing from you guys. Oh, and please vote on my poll- I'm trying to figure out which of my story ideas to write next. I'm going to do them all eventually, but I want to see what you want the most right away.

**Chapter Eight: You Found a LYRE! It's super effective!**

"Steal the Lyre?" echoed Tauriel.

Legolas' face grew hard. "Your treason has gone too far, Feren. You would dare to betray the king of all Eryn Lasgalen- he who has protected you and given you all you needed for so long- you would dare to rob him in his sleep?"

Feren waved off Legolas' comment nonchalantly. "If he hadn't been drinking so much wine, he wouldn't have fallen asleep, so I wouldn't be able to steal it from him."

Legolas' glare grew darker. "A mistake that any person may make. There is no need to take advantage of his situation."

"But why do we need The Lyre?" asked Tauriel.

Feren's face fell. "I was... I was to fetch it for my dear cousin, Lindir- but, alas, I tarried too long- now the poor kid is dead! Dead beyond remedy or revival!" and he began to cry again.

"But if he's really dead," began Legolas, "why would you need to steal The Lyre, anyway? He's dead. Bringing The Lyre to him now won't make him undead."

Feren quickly pushed the terrifying image of a horrible, stiff, drooling, undead Lindir to the back of his mind, but not before zombie! Lindir had managed to devour the imaginary Feren's brain. "It's not for that," he said. "It's to make amends. We can bring The Lyre to his grave, and it will be like he owns it now."

Tauriel's eyes lit up. "We could have a bonfire!" she exclaimed. "We could burn The Lyre, and toast things over top of it. It would be so much fun."

"No!" exclaimed a horrified Feren. "Have you no sense of what is sacred? That would be horrible. We'll just bring it to his grave and leave it there. Now, let's find it. Where is it? Tell me, Legolas."

"You can't boss me around," sneered Legolas. "Even if I knew where The Lyre was, I wouldn't tell you."

"You stuck-up, impossible child! You disgust me with your demented worldview."

"Stop it," shrieked Tauriel. "I hate it when people argue! You might wake up the Elvenking, and he'd be furious with us!"

A slow, slightly sinister smile spread across Feren's face. "Say!" he exclaimed. "Galion might know where it is!"

"But he's asleep," said Tauriel. "He'll be mad if you wake him up."

Feren shrugged. "Doesn't matter. He said that he'd help me, and he's got to make good on his promise."

With that, Feren trotted across the dais, seized Galion by the shoulders, and proceeded to shake the poor sleeping butler.

Legolas' eyes widened with horror. "What are you doing? He won't put up with that if he awakens. He'll have you flogged!"

"Is this from experience?" asked Feren, continuing to shake Galion. "Anyway, the fact that Galion wanted to help should convince you that it's alright to take The Lyre- he's the most loyal monarchist I know."

Legolas continued to stare in disbelief, while Tauriel, staring with admiration at Feren's audacity, walked over to join him. The elleth hoped to add a woman's touch to the situation. "Galion," she whispered sweetly into the butler's ear, "Feren says you know where The Lyre is. Be a dear and help us out."

For the first time, Galion stirred. "No, sire... you know your ada hates it when you hunt spiderssss..." His mumbling trailed off into sleeping silence, once again.

Legolas' eyes widened. "Maybe he's in an enchanted sleep! Maybe he'll never wake up, and he'll be stuck like that forever! And Ada..."

"Nonsense," scoffed Feren. "Absolutely no such thing as an enchanted sleep. Give the old boy some time, and he'll soon awaken."

"But then Ada might wake up soon too," said Legolas.

Feren's grin disappeared, and he began shaking Galion with twice as much vigour as before. "Galion- please. You just have to wake up." Tears once again came to the messenger's eyes. "I've already broken my promise to Lindir- and so he died. I can't break this promise again. You've got to understand, Galion, that this is for Lindir. Not for me. For-"

"Well, what do you know?"

Blood boiling, Feren glared daggers up at the cheery voice of Legolas. "How dare you interrupt my speech?"

Legolas' brilliant smile didn't diminish in the slightest, despite the harshness of Feren's words. "I've found The Lyre!"

Feren dropped Galion. "Good Gravy, Legolas! Where? When? Why?"

Legolas grinned. "It was right here on Ada's throne-side table, where he puts his drinks and things, under this lovely silken cloth."

Indeed, Legolas was right. Feren rejoiced and despaired both simultaneously and silently. Why did Legolas always have to be right? He could well understand Lindir's frustration with the prince- and the thought of his dear departed cousin once again brought tears to his eyes. He angrily swiped them away. "Well, then," he said. "Excellent. Now. We've got to get to Imladris post-haste."

"I've got everything we need!" shrieked Tauriel, dancing around with excitement. "I'm a mail-carrier! I travel all the time! I've got the supplies- everything you think you need, I've got!"

Legolas nodded slowly. "Thank you, Tauriel," he said gravely. "I really appreciate your willingness to help."

"Wait, now you're helping?" asked Feren. Legolas never ceased to confuse him.

"Why, of course!" said Legolas brightly. "You're right. If Galion's in on this plan, then it must be fine."

Feren's grin re-appeared. He raised his fist, determination shining like a beacon from his demeanour(or so he hoped). "Very well. Let us go," he said, his voice ringing clearly out through the forest. "For Lindir!"

"For Lindir!" echoed his two cohorts, caught up in the excitement of this obviously illegal undertaking.

Then, eyes closed tightly shut, Feren drew in a shaky breath. "And may the Valar aid us in our perilous journey."


	9. Travels and Travails

_Thank you, everyone, for being so awesome! This chapter turned out remarkably serious, for some reason. Hopefully it doesn't scare you away! I've put a few little references in here for you guys. Some are person- and story-specific, but there's at least one from a movie(I forget now if there's any others!) Enjoy!  
_

**Chapter Nine: Travels and Travails**

"So. Have we gotten everything we need?"

Now that the journey was finally underway, Feren had begun to feel a tad bit nervous. What if they forgot something? The journey to Rivendell wasn't exactly a walk in the park, and they needed every item on his list without exception. Attempting to suppress his rising panic, he whipped out his notebook. "Do we have food?"

Tauriel held up a suspicious-looking sack. "Here it is!"

Feren glanced back down at his checklist. "How about things to heal Legolas with when he gets hurt?"

Tauriel showed Feren another suspicious-looking sack. "Right here!"

Pulling out a handy quill pen(which had ink in it; being Eryn Lasgalen's greatest entrepreneur, Feren had invented Middle-Earth's first ink pen), Feren checked off the first two items on his list. "Alrighty. Do we have sleeping equipment, cooking equipment, tents, and the like?"

"Mhmm," said Tauriel proudly. "I told you I had everything we needed."

"'Kay," said Feren distractedly, checking off items with a passion. "And Legolas, you have Galion?"

Legolas' face was grim as he adjusted the strap that secured the sleeping butler to his back. "I don't see why we have to bring him along."

"Don't be stupid," said Feren. "Thranduil will murder him for real when he wakes up and remembers what he's done. I'd never forgive myself if he died as well as Lindir. Of course we have to bring him."

"But why do _I_ have to carry him?" whined Legolas. "You should, if you're so worried about him."

"Of course not," Feren scoffed. "You're the strong, amazing, fabulously wonderful prince of all Eryn Lasgalen. You can carry the butler."

Legolas finally agreed, albeit grudgingly, and the threesome, not counting the unconscious Galion, set out on their journey. The first hour wasn't so bad, other than having to put up with Tauriel's inane 'singing'("It helps me pass the time.") and Legolas' incessant grumbling.("I didn't know when I signed up for this that I would have to carry the butler."). Feren was getting a little edgy, however. They hadn't even gotten out of Mirkwood yet, and, perhaps foolishly on his part, they had left in the evening, immediately after they had discovered The Lyre. Feren had just wanted to get to Rivendell as soon as possible, but he was beginning to regret his decision- Mirkwood was a dangerous place to roam in the dark.

Feren squeaked as someone bumped into him. "No touchy!" he screeched.

"Sorry," said Tauriel. "It's just so crazy dark here that I can't see where I'm going."

"You and me both, sister," mumbled Feren. "Legolas, how's Galion doing? He's not having an allergic reaction or anything, right?"

He heard Legolas groan from somewhere behind him. "Why do I have to carry him?"

Feren inwardly screamed. "Look," he said, as nicely as he possibly could at that extremely trying moment. "Galion weighs almost nothing. At least a lot less than you are implying, so would you PLEASE SHUT UP?"  
Legolas started to cry. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm just feeling pretty bad right now."

"Are you wounded? Poisoned? Fading?" asked Feren, beginning to dig through his "heal Legolas" bag.

"No," said Legolas, sniffing pathetically. "It's just really tough when your nemesis dies. My life doesn't have too much purpose anymore. Ada never lets me go and visit Gimli and Aragorn, and Imladris is one of the only places that I'm allowed to visit. And now... the only person that I really enjoyed talking to there is dead!"

Feeling a tiny little bit sorry for Legolas, Feren tossed him a handkerchief. "Blow," he commanded. "Don't fret. We'll be there soon, and then you can say your last goodbyes."

In the dark, Feren could hear Tauriel trying to cry. He felt bad for her, too. She'd already used up all of her spare tears at the news of Lindir's death, and had none left to spare, despite her wishes to share in their sadness. He felt sorry for Galion too. The butler would never recover if he woke up being "a burden", as he would put it, to Legolas, one of those that he had sworn to serve. He could probably never return to Thranduil, either- what if Thranduil got addicted to the sleeping drug? Galion would forever be to blame for not only betraying the king, but also for causing him to ingest an addictive substance.

Feren suddenly had a thought. What if Galion got addicted? The remaining three in the party would have to take care of him, help him through the recovery...

"Why, we're a pretty sorry bunch!" he exclaimed.

He could practically hear Legolas blink in response to that statement. "Huh?"

"Well, we're all fugitives," explained Feren. "We've all done some terrible things. Galion betrayed the king. I did too, but it doesn't hurt me so badly as it does him. You're helping us, Legolas, and that's pretty bad. Tauriel, you had a crush on the Elvenking. That's really bad. And me?" He took a deep breath. "I killed Lindir. But you know what? We're all trying to make what I did right. And I really appreciate it, guys."

There was a silence. Finally, Tauriel replied, from somewhere behind Feren. "No problem," she said.

"Yes," said Legolas quietly. "You're right. I'm... I'm happy to help."

Feren smiled. "Thanks, kids. FOR LINDIR!"

"FOR LINDIR!" chorused Tauriel and Legolas, following Feren on his heels.

"Stoppit," said Feren. "You're stepping on the backs of my shoes." That was the last thing that any of them said until morning, when Tauriel made a most welcome discovery.

* * *

"I think we're almost there!" shrieked Tauriel. "I think I can see it! Just over this convenient hill!"

"Great," said Feren. He grasped the Lyre tightly in his hands. "Soon," he whispered. "Soon we will destroy you, in memory of the life that you took. We will burninate you with flames of death."

"Don't talk about burnination!" moaned Legolas, staggering onward. "That's what happened to Ada's face a long time ago. I still have nightmares about when he first showed me..."

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to bring up traumatic memories," said Feren, slightly sympathetically. "Do you want me to take a turn carrying Galion?"

Legolas glowered at Feren. "Oh, so _now_ you want to. Now that we're almost there. No thank you, peasant. I've brought him this far, and I'll bring him all the way, thank you."

"In that case," said Feren, "I'll run ahead to Imladris, if you don't mind. I'd like to prepare everything- get us rooms, see if Elrond has anything to break Galion's addiction, and all that jazz."

"Can I come?" asked Tauriel, giving Feren her sweetest smile.

"No," said Feren. He ran off towards Rivendell, leaving Legolas and Tauriel in a dust cloud.

* * *

The gates of Imladris were closed and bolted. This had never stopped Feren before, however, and he nimbly climbed over the wall next to the gate, which was quite a bit lower than the gate, taking special care to keep from damaging The Lyre. He wanted to keep it immaculate for the complete and utter destruction that he had planned for it.

While he indeed planned on doing what he had told Legolas and Tauriel, he wanted to have a moment alone with his cousin. The butterfly garden, where the inhabitants of Imladris grew flowers to attract the pretty little insects, he knew was in the back behind the buildings. That, he reasoned, was the most probable place for Lindir's grave. The dear thing had always loved butterflies so. Feren, therefore, ran swiftly and silently to the garden, taking special care that he wouldn't bump into any of the elves who lived here. He didn't want to answer any questions just yet.

Feren soon found himself in the garden. Flowers grew everywhere- in little, well-tended garden plots, in the flowering fruit trees, and wild throughout the otherwise weed-free grass. Someone had obviously put a great deal of work into this place. He hoped that it wasn't Lindir who had. The flowers were beautiful. Feren stood silently, admiring them. Finally, he forced himself to move on and continue looking for Lindir's grave, but not before he stopped to pick a white lily. Lilies were Lindir's favourite flower, and Feren thought that it might be nice to put one on his grave.

This garden brought back so many memories. Feren remembered when the two of them had just been elflings. He had climbed up this tree that he now stood under and yelled behind Lindir, who had been sitting in it, playing a tune on his harp. Lindir had fallen out of the tree, breaking his harp and his arm. Of course, what he had cried about was the broken harp. Feren hadn't felt bad at the time- he thought that Lindir should be trained to respond well to sudden noises, and that that situation had taught him a lesson. Now, however, he felt terrible. He could almost hear Lindir singing from that tree, just as he had done so long ago.

"Oh, tra-la-la-lally. Down in the Valley. In June- Ha ha!"

Feren's eyes widened. It couldn't be. He stared.

"By the Valar! Lindir!"

Lindir screamed, and fell out of the tree. He landed on Feren. And the world went black.

* * *

_Only one chapter to go- you shall see Lindir's fate soon enough. Please review; I love hearing your thoughts._

_On an important note, thanks to the efforts of Alex Hollister, the original Feren writer, Feren has gotten a spot in the Hobbit character selection! Go Feren! We love you!_


	10. Philosophy

_This story is dedicated to Lily Lindsey-Aubrey  
_

_My first fan fiction friend_

_Who gave me the idea_

_For this strange tale_

_In a review _

_For_

_Life of Legolas_

_Thank you_

**Chapter Ten: Philosophy  
**

It was the music that woke him up. The lovely strumming of a Lyre was what welcomed him back to the Land of the Living. And yet... he wasn't sure that he wanted to awaken. It was such a hard world to live in. There would be consequences to face, prices to pay. But somehow- somehow... that Lyre music made it all worth it.

But that squeaky voice was starting to get on his nerves.

"Feren, you can wake up now," said that voice. Then, it added, somewhat more timidly, "Well, you don't have to if you don't want to. Whatever you like is fine with me."

Feren was tempted to keep his eyes closed, tempted to look weak and pathetic. It was sort of fun, having his cousin, who he had worried over for so long, worry over him. Feren didn't consider himself to be a cruel person, however, so, summoning up his strength, he opened his eyes. His vision swam at first- he suspected a slight concussion had been inflicted upon his noble head- but soon it cleared, and he saw the very person that he had once believed that he would never see again.

Lindir. He sat before the window, the splintered light of the sunset dappling his robes and giving the Lyre in his hands an ethereal glow. The Lyre. Feren sat abruptly from the bed at the sight of it, and immediately regretted it. His head didn't exactly feel peachy-keen; he might as well take it easy. He dropped back down, his head banging loudly and satisfyingly against the firm pillow.

Lindir blinked at Feren. "Oh good. You're awake." The minstrel scooted his chair closer to his cousin's bedside, the chair legs screeching raucously against the hard ground. "How are you feeling?"

Feren decided to go for the pathetic angle. "Oh, mildly concussed, but I'll be fine, never fear, dear cos of mine," he replied weakly, gifting his cousin with a heartbreakingly-beautiful smile.

"I'm awfully sorry about that," said Lindir. "You startled me. I didn't expect you would come."

"Of course I did," said Feren crossly. "You doubted me?"

"No, no," said Lindir, looking away, as if ashamed that he would have given Feren cause to think such a notion. "Not really. I just... I never meant to ask you for the Lyre, specifically. I thought that it would be so much trouble. So after you replied to me so promptly after I wrote you about my health that other time, saying that you wanted to get me the Lyre, I tried to reply quickly, telling you that it wasn't necessary. I was feeling better already, and didn't want you to go to any trouble on my account. So I sent you that letter by way of that interesting red-haired wood-elf, along with my..." he broke off with what sounded vaguely like a sob. "...my butterfly hair clip, as an apology gift for making you think that you had to get it for me."

Feren gasped. "Le gasp! That hair clip!"

Lindir gasped. "Le- wait. Did you forget it? Please tell me that you brought it with you."

There was a strange silence for several minutes. Then, Feren grinned. "Of course I brought it with me." He handed it to Lindir, who eagerly accepted it, putting it into his hair immediately. There was no point, thought Feren, in telling Lindir that he had, in fact, forgotten it initially. He had remembered it in the end, hadn't he?

After Lindir had finished with the hair clip, he looked back towards his cousin. "Just because I didn't want you to get it for me doesn't mean I don't want it now, though. It's wonderful. I adore it." Then his gaze turned to one of worry. "But you didn't get in trouble, did you?"

"Well... it's a long story," said Feren, unsure of whether or not he wanted to tell the long story to Lindir.

"Alright," said Lindir, absent-mindedly strumming The Lyre. "I'm listening."

"Well..." began Feren, deciding that he, in fact, did not want to tell the long story. "I'd think that I'd rather not say after all- it was a harrowing time, and I think that I'd rather forget all about it. I'm just glad that you're alive."

Lindir blinked. "So am I. Did you think that I was... otherwise?"

Feren wiped away a tear. "Yes. I never thought that you would part with your butterfly hair clip, so I assumed that it was a parting gift, of a sort."

Lindir gasped. "Of course not! If I was going to bequeath it, I would have bequeathed it to someone who would wear it, like Elrond. Did something happen to my letter? It explained everything- that it was an apology gift, and everything."

"Your lett-" Feren stopped. Tauriel had brought a letter, hadn't she? And he had been about to read it, but got distracted by the hair clip...

Lindir jumped, scared out of his wits by Feren's sudden groan. "What?" asked the startled minstrel.

Feren didn't answer.

"Feren? Feren?" Lindir grew panicked. "Wake up! Feren... Lord Elrond!"

A hassled-looking Lord of Imladris made his way hurriedly into the room. "What's wrong, Lindir?"

Lindir looked up tearfully at his lord. "Feren woke up, but then something happened to him, and-and-and..."

Lord Elrond bent over the messenger of Mirkwood, attentively listening for the sound of his breathing. A minute later, he seemed satisfied, and looked up at Lindir. "He's fine. He's just fainted."

Lindir looked doubtful. "Feren never faints."

"Well, he does have a concussion, although it's a minor one," said Elrond, patting Lindir's shoulder in a way that he hoped was comforting. "It's only to be expected that he'll be dizzy and such for a little while. Did you say something to upset him?"

"Well, I didn't think so, but..."

After Lindir explained his talk with his cousin, Elrond shook his head. "I'd heard bits of the story from Legolas and Tauriel, but I wasn't sure why they thought you were dead- it was quite unclear. It seems, Lindir, that your cousin is quite the dangerous force, in a way. People seem to listen to whatever he says, and think it all right. In a way, I feel like that he deserved what happened to him."

"Don't say that, Lord Elrond!" gasped Lindir, hugging the Lyre. "He got this for me, didn't he? And he is my cousin, and blood is thicker than water." He looked down at his unconscious cousin. "I know that he sometimes does things that are less than nice, but..." he stopped, thinking. "I do think that he means well. Even when he's out to get money, he means well; and this wasn't even out to get money. It was for me."

Elrond once again shook his head. "You astound me, Lindir. Sometimes, I wonder at your lack of understanding, and your tendency to let yourself be pushed around, and other times, I'm astounded at your perceptiveness."

"Um..." Lindir was unsure of what to say to this vaguely ambiguous compliment. "Thank you?"

"You're welcome?" responded the Lord of Imladris hesitantly; he wasn't sure if what he had said to Lindir counted as a compliment.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Elrond spoke. "The butler, Galion, woke up."

"Oh, did he?" asked Lindir, for lack of anything else to say.

"Yes," said Elrond, getting back into the swing of the conversation. "He remembers nothing of the past forty-eight hours. He's recovering from a fit of hysterics at the moment; he was very upset when he was told of his part in this incredible Lyre plot. Glorfindel seems very interested in the theory that the butler was drugged to fall asleep. Legolas seems more inclined to believe that he merely got drunk, which Galion himself vehemently denies."

"That's too bad," said Lindir. "About him being sad, I mean." After another minute, he added, in a quavering voice, "is Legolas around, by any chance?"

"Oh, he's out sparring with the boys," said Elrond. "It's been forever since they've seen each other. You can probably slip to where you want to go right now, since they're occupied."

Lindir did as instructed, stealing out of the room after a quick "thank you" to the Lord of Imladris. As he left, Elrond looked down at the bed where Feren lay. He wasn't sure what to think. Was this strange Mirkwood elf a hero, or a villain? Or was it as clear-cut as all that? The boy had stolen something, committed treachery, in fact, and convinced others to do the same, but it was all for his cousin. It was all so strange.

Elrond quickly put these philosophical thoughts out of his head; they weren't appropriate for this sort of story at all. Instead, he rose from his seat, and followed Lindir out of the door. It was nearly time for the evening meal, and someone had to call everyone for it. It might as well be him. He left the door open, however- he didn't want to shut in the poor concussed elf.

His footsteps echoed down the hall, and soon disappeared. As soon as they did, Feren opened his eyes, and grinned. Lindir's words had been so touching. He honestly would never forget them, but for now, it was time to stop dwelling on them and get some sleep. After all, he needed to be in tip-top shape for when he and his party returned to Mirkwood. Of course, he'd get someone other than himself to explain things to the Elvenking, if they needed to explain things at all. They could probably figure out a way to avoid it. Feren could, anyway. He'd figured out how to get the Lyre, hadn't he? He'd figured out how to get to Rivendell, hadn't he? He could figure this out, too.

Feren always figured things out.

_The end_

* * *

Feel free to skip this crazy-long author's note- I just have so much that I want to tell you guys!

Wow- that serious dedication at the top felt so weird- but, seriously, I am feeling kind of melancholy right now(as you can probably tell from the weirdly serious tone of this chapter). This is the first story that I've ever completed! *cries* Thanks so much to Lily for the idea, and thank you all for your fantastic follows, you fabulous favourites, and your radiant reviews. You are all awesome, and I love you guys. *Gives you all Glorfy hugs and cupcakes*

This story means a lot to me, surprisingly. It's such a weird concept- the Lyre. Does it have actual power, or is it just in the eye of the beholder(or the ear of the listener)? There's more philosophy for you guys. ;) I have definitely grown as a writer along the course of this story- it was originally meant to be just a silly little accompaniment to my story Life of Legolas, and was only going to be a few chapters long. Feren was never going to get the Lyre- I didn't want to reward his wrong-doings. Galion was going to be a very minor character- I didn't care about him in the beginning. *murders past self* There were many other differences- but I like this long version better, and I hope you do too, and didn't get tired of it. Thank you all for being so encouraging. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

But wait! It's not quite done! I'm going to be publishing a "bonus features" story to go along with this one, called Lyre, Lyre: Key Change. It will have three parts- deleted scenes, an alternate ending, and a "post-credits" scene. Please check it out when I put it up!

Also, I have lots of other stories that I'm working on that I love for you to take a look at. Some are published and ongoing now, and there are others, like my future Sherlock/LotR crossover and my future Galion Angst series, that I would love you guys to be a part of when they're published. I'll be so sad if I stop getting reviews from you guys... so please at least give them a look.

Thank you all for being a part of this. I love you all, and I hope to see you again in the future!


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